


We Dance The Sorrow

by nowaynotme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Choking, Disassociation, M/M, Obsession, Really unhealthy relationships, breath play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:51:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowaynotme/pseuds/nowaynotme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is losing everything, even his hold on reality. He finds an anchor and an obsession in a certain hero.<br/>Set loosely during HBP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Dance The Sorrow

My mind snaps to attention when I see you there. Bumping arms in an attempt to get a reaction from you. I can't think straight. I keep losing time. The days run away from me now, the seconds whisper in ears until I want to claw them off. But I find myself thinking of you in the time I should be fixing the cabinet. When I should be thinking about whether or not I will go home to a corpse with my mother's face on it. I think of your green fucking eyes and your joy on the quidditch field and your rejecting of my hand on that first day and how you seem to have the same lost look on your face as I see on my own when I dare look in the mirror.

I want to provoke you. I look back as you walk away, hoping to see anger in your shoulders just so you could stop looking like that. Like me. Hero's shouldn't look that way.

I'm losing weight again.

Soon I'll be two dimensional. Soon I could evaporate right into the air.

Ah, such a lovely idea.

Soon I could be so much of nothing that I could be anyone. Even you, Golden Boy.

Things are so easy for you, and you have the audacity to believe the world is so black and white.

I know what you think of me. Vermin, Slytherin Malfoy. I know what I am. I know what my father is.

Yes, I know what he is.

~

I see you watch me. And I don't look away.

I ground myself on your eyes and I can't remember how long I stare but I know the days are rushing past me. The passage of time is told when I meet your gaze and realize you look more and more tired, fading away. That green a marker in the fog of my routine. You look away too often for me to notice where I am.

I hate you for looking away.

I hate you for staring.

I hate you for meeting my eyes and seeing me and not being disgusted.

I want to hate you so badly. To fill out the role set for my place on this chessboard. But I am so tired. And I can't think straight. And your neck is so open whenever you turn your head away from me that it makes me ache to make you bleed. To turn your skin into a canvas of red and blue so vivid we could both forget about the scar you hide under your shock of unruly hair.

It is only when I meet your eyes again and find your mouth open that I realize I've been staring at your neck for far too long.

Seconds are screaming until you remember who I am and your face twists in hatred, no doubt guessing what I'd had in mind for your fragile skin and hating me all the more for it.

~

I don't remember how I came to be outside in the dark or where you came from but now our eyes connect for long enough that I notice how cold it is. It's refreshing, but I shiver despite my longing for it.

You make some sort of move toward me, and I should do something but Merlin I'm so tired. I don't know when I last slept. Perhaps i'm still sleeping. What a lovely vision this would be. But then, your eyes wouldn't look like that in my dreams.

Your hands are around my throat now and I am on the ground and I can't wait for you to kill me.

I close my eyes and smile, but your quick intake of breath links me back to awareness and your hands jerk away from me. When you let go a pang of disappointment shoots through my body, my throat is too sore to tell you. Instead I open my eyes to meet yours and hope and your hands are back, but they are gentle. I know you won't kill me now. They cut off enough air supply to pretend.

And that's good enough.

~

For days after the mark of your hands are stark against my pale skin and I hear people whisper that I deserved whatever I got and I am so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic.  
> Wish me luck.


End file.
